


Open Wounds

by orphan_account



Category: due South
Genre: Community: ds_kinkmeme, First Time, M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Canon, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-21
Updated: 2011-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-27 16:19:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/297731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by this prompt from The due South Kink Meme:</p><p>"due South, V/K, rough sex, first time - Vecchio didn't expect his first time to be this rough, but that seems to be how Kowalski needs it. (Vecchio on top? Please?)"</p><p>And that's pretty much what happens in this story: Vecchio tops Kowalski, rather to Vecchio's surprise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Open Wounds

Kowalski doesn’t talk about Fraser when he comes back from Canada. Vecchio can relate; he doesn’t talk about Stella when he comes back from Florida. Some dreams should just stay dreams. But dreams have a habit of replacing themselves. The idea that he and Stella would be happy running a bowling alley together, which in Ray’s defense, seemed to make some kind of sense at the time, fell apart, but Ray got a new dream: returning to Chicago and being a good cop again.

Apparently, something like that happened to Kowalski. But they aren’t the same people they were. Ray isn’t who he was when he briefly met Kowalski after returning from Vegas; hell, he’s not who he was when he left Chicago for Las Vegas. And Kowalski isn’t the same person he met, and sure as fuck isn’t the same person Stella would occasionally mention.

Kowalski’s…bright. Not bright as in smart (although he is that), but bright and brittle, like he might break apart, like Canada froze him into a thin sheet of ice that is one rough touch away from shattering, irredeemably broken, but with pieces that could still do a lot of damage to anyone who tried to pick them up.

Ray tries to stay away from Kowalski. They’re in different districts now, it should be easy, but Fraser, even now that he’s posted in Kamloops way the hell away from Chicago, is their common denominator. They keep hanging out together, watching hockey, eating pizza, giving each other shit. They’re watching each other all the time, and at first Ray’s not really sure for what. They both wrecked themselves on the same rocks: Stella and Fraser. Ray thinks Kowalski maybe took the wreckage harder than he did, which he would not have thought possible, but Kowalski’s brittleness suggests otherwise.

And one night it somehow all comes to a head. They’ve both been dealing with shitty cases, cases that would’ve been easier to bear with Fraser’s help in detection and with Stella’s backup in prosecution, but they don’t have Fraser or Stella, and they’re not ready to rely on comparative strangers to back up their investigations and make sure the guilty are punished. And these should be abstractions, frustrations they’re used to, but they’re not and somehow watching hockey at Kowalski’s place is fraught, complete with meaningful sidelong glances.

Ray’s getting ready to leave, mostly out of self-preservation; he's nearly out the door, when Kowalski puts his hand on Ray’s forearm and says, “Stay. Please.” And Kowalski licks his lips, and there’s no mistaking what he wants. And Ray’s just barely on the righteous side of being incapable of refusal.

Kowalski is just as broken as Ray thought he was, but Ray had never imagined that he would find a shattered Kowalski to be so beautiful. Looking at Kowalski, it’s as if someone put Stella and Fraser in a blender, pressed pulse, then paused to add a staggering amount of utterly abandoned need before pushing the button to let the blades do their work. It disturbs Ray, how much he wants this, how this broken Kowalski makes him burn with sheer want.

Kowalski holds nothing back, and Ray cannot believe that anyone could be this open. “Please,” Kowalski tells him. “I want you to.”

Ray shakes his head. “I can’t,” he says, with genuine regret. “When I was in Vegas, people offered me things. Offered me everything. I couldn’t turn any of it down. I could only limit the damage I did as Armando. What you want….” Kowalski is looking at him, pupils blown, sweat nearly pouring off of him. Ray feels like he’s in the confessional, allowing another man to mediate between him and God for his sins, but Kowalski’s reacting like some kind of temple prostitute.

“Need,” Kowalski chokes out. “What I need.” And that word, just that one fucking word, goes straight to Ray’s cock. Because he now realizes that, for Kowalski, things have gone from desire to requirement. And objectively Ray knows no one ever died from lack of sexual fulfillment, but Kowalski is such a fucking wreck that he might be ready to set historical precedent. And it’s like switch being flipped. Ray pushes up against Kowalski, shoves him against the wall. “If you really need this,” Ray says, and Kowalski’s babbling about how much he does, he really, really does, and Ray doesn’t care about safe or sane because as far as he’s concerned he’s got consensual, he’s got a fucking engraved invitation, and now he can let his own beast out of its cage.

 “You’re going to give me what I want, because it’s what you need,” Ray growls against Kowalski’s throat, and then nips at his skin while it vibrates under him. Kowalski’s vocalizing but not using words, and Ray thinks maybe it’s the contrast of words that’s getting Kowalski where he lives: Ray wants, but Kowalski needs. His cock jumps at that thought, at the power imbalance the words imply, but he really isn’t interested in a semantics seminar.

“And what I want,” he says, punctuating his words with careful bites and powerful licks, “is for you to get on your goddamned knees already, and to take me out, and to show me how much you need me.” Kowalski shudders, nods, and Ray backs up just enough to give Kowalski room to sink to his knees. Kowalski, graceful even in his desperation, undoes Ray’s belt, his fly, and pushes pants and boxers down. There’s a momentary hesitation, and Ray thinks maybe he’s a little psychic because he knows exactly what’s going through Kowalski’s mind: does he want it slow? Fast? What does he want? But then Kowalski seems to resolve it in his mind, and he licks at the head of Ray’s cock and then takes the rest of it all the way to the back of his throat. Ray remembers that he told Kowalski to show him the depth of Kowalski’s need, and that apparently, the physical depth of that need is at the back of Kowalski’s throat.

Ray’s head tips back, because Kowalski’s mouth and throat are goddamned good, fucking great, but behind it all is Kowalski’s need for Ray, and Ray wonders if anyone has ever needed him this much. “Gonna fuck your face,” Ray tells Kowalski in what could be a warning or a threat or a promise, and Kowalski moans lushly around Ray’s cock. “Gonna grab your hair,” Ray says, and is rewarded with another moan. Ray puts his hands in Kowalski’s spiky hair, managing to tug at strands and scalp, pushing Kowalski around just so, and shoving into his mouth. Kowalski’s moaning nonstop, and there might even be words in there somewhere, words muffled by Ray’s cock, and that’s a thought that Ray very nearly can’t handle.

He lets his thumbs slide over Kowalski’s face, and it’s wet. Ray forces himself to check: yeah, Kowalski’s eyes are leaking tears, but he’s not really crying. His eyes are open and not exactly focused, but clearly not unhappy. He’s gulping air through his nose, so if he’s choking, it’s not for lack of oxygen. “Gonna happen,” Ray manages to say, even though he would have thought courtesy was beyond him. And Ray will never know how he knew to do this, how he had the brain power left for this to even occur to him, but he slides his hands down further, down past where he’s obscenely bulging out Kowalski’s face, pressing down, just a little, on Kowalski’s throat, then managing to press each thumb on Kowalski’s nipples. He puts emotion into the action, not just lust. Possession and domination. He wants to own Kowalski, Kowalski’s desire, and he wants Kowalski to know that he’s owned. And that’s it, Kowalski’s swallowing convulsively around him, and Ray’s gone, lost to the pleasure of his imagining that Kowalski’s reveling in his own submission.

“Fuck,” Ray yells. He wants to say more: Kowalski, you’re so goddamned good and Kowalski, what did I do to get you on your knees like this and Kowalski, I'm glad Fraser broke you somehow up in Canada and Kowalski, I’m falling in love with you. Ray only regrets not being able to say the last one as he whites out from pleasure.

The next thing Ray knows, time has skipped a few beats; he’s on the floor, on his ass, next to Kowalski, who’s still on his knees, which cannot be comfortable. Ray feebly moves toward Kowalski’s dick, wanting to give him at least some pleasure in return, but Kowalski grips his wrist with surprising strength.

“Already done,” Kowalski tells him, his voice a beautiful wreck, practically a whisper. Ray pushes past Kowalski’s grip to feel the dampness at his crotch for himself, and yes, Kowalski’s limp and damp, so damp, he fucking came just from what Ray did to him. And Ray summons up the energy to kiss Kowalski, to kiss him with tenderness and awe. And Kowalski kisses back with passion and gratitude, and Ray thinks maybe they just said I’m in love with you to each other. Because he knows that’s what he meant with his kiss, and he’s pretty sure that’s what Kowalski meant, and once they’ve had a chance to calm the fuck down they can say it with words.

Ray has no idea what Fraser did to fuck Kowalski up this badly, but he just might send the bastard two dozen roses to thank him. They’ve got to have florists in Kamloops, and Fraser can just look at the roses and fucking suffer, knowing he drove Kowalski into Vecchio’s arms.


End file.
